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From Off the Road Database
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<p>Despair! Despair! That is the sea<br />
Which ever is at our feet,<br />
Seeks to envelop you and me,<br />
In ruin full, complete,<br />
Cause us to deem this life a curse<br />
And make death's name sound sweet.
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<p>Oh! it is all that Hope can do<br />
To keep lifted our eyes<br />
And day by day our strength renew<br />
With visions and dream-lies;<br />
To lead us by that awful flood<br />
From which no soul may rise.
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<p>When we were there some years ago,<br />
This church each night gave quite a show.<br />
To enter the house we had to strive,<br />
For the building was packed to all revive.
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<div class="poem">
<p>"If yo' faith go to shakin' an' yo' go to slippin',<br />
Jus' read de Good Book without no skippin',<br />
De dev'l am swif', but yo' stick to yo' Maker,<br />
Yo' can beat him to glory in de Six Studebaker."
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<div class="poem">
<p>"lf yo' read de Book fo' to get yo' light,<br />
Yo' can dodge de ol' dev'l an' keep out o' sight.<br />
Jus' read fo' to keep from makin' colleesions,<br />
'Bout Paul with his 'pistle after the 'Phesians."
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<p><span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 11em;"> <i>—The Car with Character.</i></span>
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<p>Just then a gal, big, black and tall,<br />
Shouted, "Fo' de story I sho' does fall.<br />
With de dev'l I's fightin' both day an' night,<br />
But with yo' story I's winnin' de fight."
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<div class="poem">
<p>We know a good old Missouri town,<br />
Where "niggers" a-plenty live all around.<br />
On a little hill down near the mill,<br />
The "nigger" church is standing still.
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<div class="poem">
<p>He said, "I's read de Good Book thro',<br />
I's fahmiliar with all de ol' an' new.<br />
Now you's all bette' believe in dis story,<br />
If you's a gonna get yo' a home in glory."
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<div class="poem">
<p>The snow outside the church was deep,<br />
Inside were shouts while some did weep.<br />
The preacher's voice above the din,<br />
Proclaimed to all their awful sin.
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<div class="poem">
<p>The preacher replied, "My siste' host,<br />
You's get on de side o' de Holy Ghost.<br />
He'll look down deep in yo' po' ol' heart,<br />
You'll sho' beat de dev'l if yo' do yo' part."
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<p>Ah little road, brown as my race is brown,<br />
Your trodden beauty like our trodden pride,<br />
Dust of the dust, they must not bruise you down.<br />
Rise to one brimming golden, spilling cry!
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<div class="poem">
<p>Ah, little road all whirry in the breeze,<br />
A leaping clay hill lost among the trees,<br />
The bleeding note of rapture streaming thrush<br />
Caught in a drowsy hush<br />
And stretched out in a single singing line of dusky song.
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<p>Some good roads, some bad roads<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">Are roads of dust and grime;</span><br />
Some rest roads and toil roads,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">Then some that lead to crime.</span><br />
The best road's the west road<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">Which becks with quiet call.</span><br />
The straight road, though hard road,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">Is the best road after all.</span>
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<div class="poem">
<p>There's a love road and a hate road;<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">And this last road trails to hell.</span><br />
There's a cool road; a clean road<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">That leads by friendship's well.</span><br />
But the best road is the west road<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">That calls us one and all.</span><br />
'Tis a bright road—a right road<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">And—the one road after all.</span>
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<div class="poem">
<p>There are hill roads and dale roads,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">And roads that bind and twist;</span><br />
Some wide roads and cramped roads<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">Which many souls have missed.</span><br />
There are blind roads and night roads<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">That lead to where we fall.</span><br />
The long road's a hard road<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 1em;">But the best road after all.</span>
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<p>We tumbled out into the starry dark<br />
Under the cold stars; still the sirens shrieked,<br />
As we reached the square, two rockets hissed<br />
And flowered: they were the only two in town.<br />
Down streamed the people, blowing frosty breath<br />
Under the lamps—the mayor and the marshal,<br />
The fire department, members of the band,<br />
Buttoning their clothes with one hand, while the other<br />
Clutched a cold clarionet or piccolo<br />
That shivered for its first ecstatic squeal.<br />
We had no cannon—we made anvils serve.<br />
Just as our fathers did when Sumter fell;<br />
And all a little town could do, to show<br />
That twenty haughty cities heaped together<br />
Could not be half so proud and glad as we,<br />
We did. Soon a procession formed itself—<br />
Prosperous and poor, young, old, and staid and gay,<br />
Every glad soul who'd had the hardihood<br />
To jump from a warm bed at four o'clock<br />
Into the starry blackness. Round the square—<br />
A most unmilitary sight—it pranced,<br />
Straggled and shouted, while the street-lamps blinked<br />
In sleepy wonder.<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 8em;"> At the very end</span><br />
Where the procession dwindled to a tail,<br />
Shuffled Old Boozer. From a snorting car<br />
But just arrived, a leading citizen<br />
Sprang to the pavement.<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 12em;"> “Hallelujah, Boss!</span><br />
“We's whop de Kaiser!”<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 11em;"> “Well, you old black fraud,”</span><br />
(The judge's smile was hiding in his beard)<br />
“What's he to you?”<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 9em;"> Old Boozer bobbed and blinked</span><br />
Under the lamps; another moment, he<br />
Had scrambled to the base about the post,<br />
And through the nearer crowd the shout went round,<br />
“Listen—Old Boozer's going to preach!”<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 19em;"> He raised</span><br />
His trancéd eyes. A moment's pause.<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 17em;"> “O Lawd,</span><br />
You heah dis gemman ax me dat jes' now,<br />
'What's he to Boozer'? Doan he know, O Lawd,<br />
Dat Kaiser's boot-heel jes' been tinglin' up<br />
To stomp on Boozer? Doan he know de po',<br />
De feeble, an' de littlesome toddlin' chile<br />
Dat scream to Hebben when he tromp 'em down,<br />
Hab drug dat Bad Man right down off his throne<br />
To ebberlastin' torment? Glory, Lawd!<br />
We done pass through de Red Sea! Glory, Lawd!<br />
De Lawd done drug de mighty from his seat!<br />
He done exalted dem ob low degree!<br />
He sabe de spark from dem dat stomp it out!<br />
He sabe de seed from dem dat tromp it down!<br />
He sabe de lebben strugglin' in de lump!<br />
He sabe de—“<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 7em;"> Cheering, laughing, moving on,</span><br />
With cries of “Go it, Boozer!” the crowd swirled<br />
About his perch; but, as I passed, I saw<br />
A red-haired boy, who stood, and did not move,<br />
But gazed and gazed, as if the old man's words<br />
Raised visions. In his shivering arms he held<br />
A struggling puppy; once I heard him say,<br />
“Down, Woodrow!” but he scarcely seemed to know<br />
He spoke. The stars paled slowly overhead;<br />
The din increased; the crowd surged; but the boy<br />
Stood rapt. As I turned back once more, I saw<br />
Full morning on his face. And at the end<br />
Of our one down-town street, the laughing sun<br />
Came shouting up, belated, but most glad.
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